


I Don't Normally Do This / Maybe

by crieshavoc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Punky Monkey, mentions of kira, non clone verse, random AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crieshavoc/pseuds/crieshavoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Punky monkey: two takes on a one night stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Normally Do This / Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geoclaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoclaire/gifts).



> Original tumblr summary: So, the amazing geoclaire gave me a list of punky monkey prompts. One of the prompts (which I was encouraged to pick) was “one night stand.” I asked if it should be “one night stand” or “one night stand that doesn’t end were it should because reasons.” I was told “both.”
> 
> Enjoy!

**“I don’t normally do this.”**

               

                “I don’t normally do this.”

                Cosima probably should let the comment slide. She probably should ignore the soft, slurred statement from her companion.

                “What do you mean?” Cosima pulls the other woman, taller only by the soles of her worn boots, closer to her. Cosima bites her lip as the other woman shivers, reacting to the nails she drags down the punk’s back.

                The other woman’s hips jerk into hers, sloppy and imprecise.

                Cosima wants more. She cut off whatever reply is coming _I don’t normally do one night stands_ or _I don’t normally pick people up in clubs_ or _I don’t normally fuck women_. It doesn’t matter. Cosima pushes her tongue past the other woman’s lips, forgetting she’s asked entirely when a warm hand slides across her stomach.

                “Wait, wait,” the punk says, resting her head against Cosima’s shoulder, breathing in harsh puffs. “What’s your name?” She asks, turning her head so lips grazed Cosima’s earlobe.

                Gasping, Cosima replies, tugging insistently at her companion’s leather pants. _Leather pants_ and she’s asking questions. _Shit_.

                “I’m Sarah,” her words are accompanied by soft kisses more, a slow line of lightly pressing lips against Cosima’s jaw.

                “Sarah,” Cosima repeats, nodding slightly, “you’re beautiful.” She smiles, groaning as the other woman laughs and presses a thigh between her legs.

                “Thank you,” Sarah kisses the corner of her mouth, “so are you, Cosima. Come on, bedroom’s this way,” she links their hands, eyes bright like a fire crackling over dry logs, and starts walking (swaying) toward the staircase to their right.

                Cosima follows obediently: up the stairs, left turn, third door down the hall, onto the bed. Only a full size, but it’ll do the trick. It’s certainly softer than the wall downstairs.

                She slips out as the sun rises, exhausted and sore, wondering what Sarah’s answer was going to be. What part of _taking a stranger to bed_ isn’t normally part of Sarah’s life? Cosima doesn’t notice the child sized coat on the rack or the school bag by the door, not that it would have made a difference.

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

 

\--

**“Maybe.”**

 

                “I don’t normally do this.”

                Cosima probably should let the comment slide. She probably should ignore the soft, slurred statement from her companion.

                “What do you mean?” Cosima pulls the other woman, taller only by the soles of her worn boots, closer to her. Cosima bites her lip as the other woman shivers, reacting to the nails she drags down the punk’s back.

                The other woman’s hips jerk into hers, sloppy and imprecise.

                Cosima wants more. She cut off whatever reply is coming _I don’t normally do one night stands_ or _I don’t normally pick people up in clubs_ or _I don’t normally fuck women_. It doesn’t matter. Cosima pushes her tongue past the other woman’s lips, forgetting she’s asked entirely when a warm hand slides across her stomach.

                “Wait, wait,” the punk says, resting her head against Cosima’s shoulder, breathing in harsh puffs. “What’s your name?” She asks, turning her head so lips grazed Cosima’s earlobe.

                Gasping, Cosima replies, tugging insistently at her companion’s leather pants. _Leather pants_ and she’s asking questions. _Shit_.

                “I’m Sarah,” her words are accompanied by soft kisses more, a slow line of lightly pressing lips against Cosima’s jaw.

                “Sarah,” Cosima repeats, nodding slightly, “you’re beautiful.” She smiles, groaning as the other woman laughs and presses a thigh between her legs.

                “Thank you,” Sarah kisses the corner of her mouth, “so are you, Cosima. Come on, bedroom’s this way,” she links their hands, eyes bright like a fire crackling over dry logs, and starts walking (swaying) toward the staircase to their right.

                Cosima follows obediently: up the stairs, left turn, third door down the hall, onto the bed. Only a full size, but it’ll do the trick. It’s certainly softer than the wall downstairs.

                She slips out from under Sarah’s arm as the sun rises, exhausted and sore, but _nature calls_. Cosima finds the bathroom on her first try. It isn’t until she goes to flip the light back off that her overtired brain processes the second toothbrush next to the sink, or the tube of bubblegum flavored toothpaste, or the barrettes and headbands scattered on the counter. She turns, planning to find the rest of her clothes and _bolt_ , but Sarah’s leaning against the doorjamb.

                Sarah’s leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed over her stomach, biting her lip, and her eyes are bloodshot and _tired_.

                _I don’t normally do this_.

                “She’s with her dad this weekend,” Sarah says, her voice quiet and scratchy after the alcohol and the joints they shared.

                Cosima tries to find something to do with her hands, to keep from wringing them together, and wishes for once that she could run her fingers through her hair (like Sarah does).

                “She’s almost nine and her name is Kira,” Sarah adds, filling the silence.

                “Oh,” Cosima says, her head bobbing like last night in the club.

                “That’s what I meant, that I don’t normally pick people up at random, because,” Sarah motions to _her daughter’s_ _things_ on the bathroom counter.

                Cosima chuckles, feeling a bit ashamed of their haste, of _her_ insistence, “Makes sense.”

                Sarah shifts, biting her lip, “Are you hungry? Would – would you like some breakfast or something?” Her accent is thicker this morning. Nerves, maybe.

                Cosima hesitates, managing not to look again at the messy array of reasons why she should be _bailing_ on this beautiful woman, this beautiful _mother_ standing in front of her, still blocking her way out of the washroom. She hesitates and remembers her own mother, newly single with the little white girl she adopted sleeping upstairs the first time her dad came over for dinner.

                “You _can_ say no. I – I understand that the morning after isn’t normally part of the plan,” Sarah sighs and steps back, clearing the doorway.

                _I don’t normally do this_.

                “Do you have pancake mix?” Cosima asks, stepping forward until she can put her hands back on Sarah’s hips (like last night).

                The way Sarah’s face lights up is something she’d like to see more of, maybe.

                “We _do_ , as a matter of fact. Pancakes are Kira’s favorite,” Sarah’s _blushing_ and she looks so shy, talking about her kid as she slings her arms over Cosima’s shoulders again.

                “Sounds like the girl’s got good taste,” Cosima jokes.

                “She does. Gets it from me, I think,” Sarah smiles back uncertainly, her eyes tracing Cosima’s face to see how _that_ line lands.

                Cosima feels her heart skip. She leans forward and pecks Sarah’s cheek. “Maybe, after breakfast, I could get your number? We could do this again sometime?”

                Sarah’s face lights up again and Cosima’s sure now that she wants to see more of this beautiful woman she’s stumbled across.

                “Maybe,” Sarah replies playfully, leading the way back down the stairs.


End file.
